I am sleeping in a bed with J. and her sister. The room is dark, an impression of dark wood. They are sleeping side by side, and I am at their feet. J's legs touch my back. They are warm.
I wake up to find a man standing over me. He has a mustache and a baseball cap. He is clutching my necklace, about to yank it off. I sit up in bed and try but can't speak. I am not afraid, or not as much as I am angry. The man says "Let me tell you how this is going to be. . ." I find my voice, suddenly commanding, in control. "No. You're going to leave. Now. Leave and never come back. I haven't seen your face. Get out! Get out!" He is scared and he leaves.
Brief sleepy interaction with Jamie and Jennifer. I tell them what has happened and then it occurs to me to call 911. I think about the man's description. How tall? 5'10", no, not that tall. 5'8"-- too short. 5'9". How old? 40?
But instead of calling first I decide to go outside and look around. I wonder if he has entered any other houses. I walk around this strange neighborhood as the sun comes up. There is no one out, no one up. No signs of life in the houses. I approach a house that I think is the one but as I get closer I notice differences in the architecture. I imagine calling J and J and saying I'm lost. But we are all visitors here and they wouldn't be able to give me directions. I look at the street names and they are unfamiliar.
Explanations
caveat lector
For your edification and delight, the following flotation devices are offered:
flotson - concerning duende and the portable stallion; musings on poesis in convenient, bite-sized chiclets. mise en abyme - concerning the synergistic effects of Google and intoxicants; a prolegomena to any future metaphysics. flanerie - concerning the cosmopolis, ubiquitous technologies and decisive moments; Bell, Bresson and Baudelaire, a triple threat in the age of Nokia. oneironautica - concerning hypnogogia; an archaeology of sleep.
Special thanks to Joy Morton, Fritz Lang, George Herriman and Escola Portuguesa de Arte Equestre.
My father and I have joined a procession...
Saturday, July 12, 2008
My father and I have joined a procession of union men, traveling at night on foot via a secret dance step that identifies us by the soft and regular pattern of our feet scraping the ground. It is dangerous to fall out of step. We are separated when my father goes to help a friend. A fox comes to me and swallows an ember from my torch. The fox glows like a lantern and I follow it to safety.
